The Cycle of Galand Box Set

by Edward W. Robertson

  A single bolt made it through, speeding toward Gladdic. The priest threw his right hand in front of his face. The nether sliced through his wrist, his tan hand bouncing once against the iron ground.

  Gladdic lifted his stump to his eyes. His mouth fell open. As Dante reached for another round of nether, the demon in the pit hauled its way out, swinging its weakened arm at him. Dante batted the claws aside with his sword and swept away the stone and iron beneath the demon a second time. As it fell, unbalanced, he brought his sword down on its head.

  At the top of the hillock, Gladdic was dashing toward the massive iron hexagon, his sodden robes flapping around him. He touched it with a rod-like object in his left hand. A blue flash seared through the air, far brighter than any flaming star.

  "You wouldn't let me stop it?" Gladdic's voice shook with hysteria. "Then you can be the first to die!"

  Cracks shot across the hexagon. The iron groaned and scraped. Gladdic ran behind the monument. Dante fired a dozen bolts after him, but unable to see his target or sense him in the nether, there was almost no chance of hitting Gladdic.

  The demon Blays had wounded collapsed into vapor beneath his swords. Blays ran toward Dante, cleaving into the trapped Andrac's back as Dante chopped at its arms and head. It dimmed, the wall of the pit visible behind its translucent body, then broke apart in a spray of shadows. Whatever was left of the traces absorbed into the white rock.

  At the top of the rise, the three Star-Eaters turned away from Dante and toward the collapsing iron hexagon. Great slabs of metal fell from its sides, banging down like the pots and pans of a giant too drunk to cook. Below, the five surviving Odo Sein had quit chasing after Naran and Volo and were now staring uphill in perfect stillness.

  "What are we all looking at?" Blays said.

  "Clearly, everyone's disturbed by Gladdic's senseless act of petty vandalism." Dante flinched as an entire side of the hexagon fell outward and hammered to the ground. "I have the bad feeling there's something inside there."

  He twisted and made a broad "come here" gesture to Naran and Volo. Eyeing the motionless and possibly stunned Odo Sein, the two of them moved laterally across the hillside, further separating themselves from the knights, then trekked uphill. This, at last, spurred the Odo Sein into action. But rather than chasing the man and the girl, they appeared to be jogging to join the Andrac.

  With a final dying groan, the ceiling of the hexagon collapsed on itself. A white spar of bone thrust into the air. With a bloom of pulverized iron dust, a towering figure stalked from the wreckage of the monument, spear in hand.

  A prickling sensation shot through Dante's sword hand so hard he had to glance at it to make sure it hadn't turned into a writhing mass of ants. In the metal rubble, a gauzy nimbus of light obscured anything more than the man's outline. Though he didn't quite rival the Andrac, he stood taller than any norren, with the build of an axeman or a blacksmith. Long strips of pale cloth fluttered from his forearms.

  The light sank into his body, revealing the details of his being. His skin was blue-white and semi-translucent, glowing like sunlight through ice. His face was beardless and weathered in the way of snow that had melted, refrozen, and been scoured by winds. He looked incredibly old—really, he looked dead—but at the same time he seemed vibrant, ageless, less of a mortal being and more of a natural force.

  His eyes were an unsteady state of blue, shifting from light powder to steel blue and then to something as dark as the ocean under full sunlight. His hair was white, curling around his face. His expression was blank like a lion's. Dante could feel great surges of sorcery within him, barely tamped down by the power of the Odo Sein.

  The being glanced at the demons, then downhill. Coming under his gaze was like being struck by a thrown brick.

  "Er," Blays said. "Who the fuck is that?"

  27

  The man from the hexagon swiveled his head to face the closest Andrac. He spoke in a voice that sounded like it was coming from inside a copper still. The language was nothing that Dante had ever heard. Other than his mouth, the man's face didn't move at all.

  The Andrac twisted its mouth into a sneer, flexed its claws, and charged. The man lowered his weapon and dropped into a fighting stance. Rather than a traditional spear, he bore something like a glaive, with a sword-like blade fixed to the end of a straight pole. Rather than metal, it seemed to be carved from the same stone they were standing on—or, perhaps, from bone.

  The blade collided with the demon's claws in a storm of black and white sparks. The blue-white giant twirled his wrists, snapping the blade clear and driving it forward. It dug deep into the Andrac's shoulder, sending the demon back with a squealing hiss.

  The other two Star-Eaters planted their feet and sprung toward their foe.

  Blays let his swords droop until their tips were nearly scraping the ground. "If the tremendously frightening looking fellow is fighting our enemies, then surely that makes him our friend, right?"

  Dante's mouth had gone completely dry. "Not sure we can count on that."

  Sandals scuffed up the slope. Naran and Volo ran up to join them. Both showed a few scrapes, but no major wounds.

  Naran's face was beaded with sweat and rain. "Should I bother to ask what is happening?"

  Blays frowned at him. "Never seen a trapped giant maniac do battle with three nether-demons before?"

  Atop the mound, the man twirled and jabbed, the strips of cloth on his arms snapping with each block and strike. On the hillside, the five Odo Sein broke into a dirge-like chant. It felt like a song of their own deaths, but their voices were composed and determined, even joyous or perhaps spiritual, as if they were finally being put to the use they had dedicated their lives to.

  The pressure in Dante's head was slightly weaker, but still very much present. "Gladdic's not far. This would seem like a very good time to pursue him."

  "Right," Blays said. "And then might I suggest running away? Ideally somewhere very far from here?"

  Dante sheathed his sword and ran along the circumference of the hillock. Above them, the titans tore at each other. One of the Andrac was already leaking shadows from several deep wounds. The man had suffered a single claw-rake. His skin seemed to be seeping a glowing white fluid. The Odo Sein joined the battle, but beneath the towering demons and the statue-like man in white, their hulking armor looked as puny as children using sticks to play-fight in the yard.

  Dante swung around the back side of the hill. Gladdic was already halfway across the bowl, stumbling along on the wet rock. After they'd gotten a hundred yards toward the far rim, the priest turned around, spotted them, and pushed his pace faster.

  Even so, they were gaining. They'd catch him soon after cresting the ridge. And with the sign of his blood pulsing in Dante's brow, he'd have nowhere to hide.

  Dante glanced over his shoulder. One of the Star-Eaters and at least one of the Odo Sein were nowhere to be seen. Despite being heavily outnumbered, the blue-white man looked to be fine. His glaive now showed pale blue markings along the shaft that glowed with inner light. They might have been runes, probably the same ones that had been on the hexagon, but Dante was too far away to be sure.

  They neared a fold filled with red water. As Dante splashed through, the surface surged to his left and right. Half a dozen of the ghostly white people emerged, their eyes filled with a sick and angry yearning. They jumped to their feet and sprinted after Dante and the others, obliging them to draw their weapons and turn around. The enemy fought ferociously, but with no coordination. The nethereal blades put them down in moments.

  The four of them ran on after Gladdic. More of the water-people were arising from pockets of water from around the entire valley. Most were streaming toward the center, faces pulled tight with a focus that looked almost religious in power. They hurtled forward with heedless disregard for their own bodies, slipping on the wet rock and metal, leaving bloody footprints that were soon washed away by the rain.

  Others diverted cour
se to come at Dante and the others, forcing them to stop again, find favorable footing, and defend themselves. None of the people said a single word. As the nether-wrapped blades cut through them, rather than pain or terror, their faces warped in anguished frustration.

  Few of the pale beings were arising near the fringes of the circular valley and Gladdic appeared untroubled by them. Dante wasn't certain, but they seemed to be losing ground on the priest. Swearing under his breath, he glanced back at the small hill where the hexagon had stood. His eyes bulged.

  Blays twisted around for a look. "Tell me the Andrac are charging off to fight an invisible foe. Because if they're actually running away, then I am officially terrified."

  The demons' backs were turned to the ice-like man as they fled from the mound, trails of shadows streaming behind them. There was no sign of the Odo Sein except perhaps for some of the red splashed around on the rock. The man planted his long glaive and watched the demons retreat. The next time Dante glanced back, the man had turned to stare at them.

  "We should run faster," Dante said. "If you can't run faster, start thinking of ways to beg for your life."

  Five more of the water-people plunged through the bony posts, stopping them in their tracks. Faced with the Odo Sein blades, the attackers weren't much of a threat, but by the time Blays sent the last of them thudding to the ground, Gladdic had slipped over the ridge.

  The man from the hexagon was on the move, too. He didn't look to be hurrying, yet he sped over the ground as if it were being pulled along beneath him.

  "He's coming for us," Dante said. "We have about a minute to find good ground and make the most of it."

  Blays pointed to a long platform of rock elevated from the earth around it by a few inches on one side and two feet on the other. It looked to be the best they'd find. They jumped up on it, Blays heading straight for the puddle of blood-red water near its center and swishing his sword around in it to make sure it wasn't harboring any of the undrowned people.

  The blue-white man had reached the bottom of the hillock and was now bounding up the slope with a wolfish combination of speed and tirelessness. Streams of water-people were dashing after him with looks of yearning chiseled into their faces, but despite their haste, the giant quickly left them behind.

  Dante called out to the nether. With the death of the Odo Sein, he'd thought it would be released, but it remained stuck fast. Was the Odo Sein's power something they carried passively in their flesh, with no need to actively exert it? Were there others lurking out of sight nearby? Or was the whole Wound somehow cut off from the flow of shadow and glow of light that existed in every other corner of the world?

  He looked to the ether, but it too was held in place. He moved beside Blays and drew his sword.

  The giant man slowed to his equivalent of a jog. He stopped thirty feet away from their shelf of rock. It didn't feel nearly far enough; with one leap and a thrust of his glaive, he could be among them.

  The man gazed at Dante, eyes shifting between every shade of blue. His features didn't look Tanarian. In fact, they didn't look like any people Dante had yet seen: the eyes seemed to be too long at the corners, the mouth stretching too wide below his thick nose.

  Dante held his sword at his side. "Who are you?"

  He'd spoken in Mallish. When the man replied, his voice reverberating through the open air, it was in a flowing language that didn't remind Dante of anything he'd ever heard.

  The man lifted his left hand, pointing at Dante's chest. He spoke again, voice rising.

  "Whatever it is, it was that guy's fault." Blays pointed in the direction Gladdic had fled. "Unless you're asking who to thank for letting you out. In that case, it was all us."

  "He won't stop." Volo's voice was little more than a whisper. "Not unless we swear to serve him. Even then, he might take our souls instead."

  The man positioned the glaive horizontal to the ground, held lengthwise in front of his hips. His next words rang with a formal cadence. He stopped, the only sounds the steady bash of the rain and the frenzied beating of the water-people's bare feet as they ran toward the man in white. Though the air was warm, it suddenly smelled like a northern wind.

  "Don't make any moves," Dante murmured to the others. "We're not here to—"

  Without the slightest hint of anger or enmity, the man bent his knees, swung his glaive forward, and charged.

  He mounted the shelf of rock. Blays stepped forward, flicking his left-hand sword into the path of the glaive. The blades met with a wrenching screech. The purplish shadows on the Odo Sein weapon flickered wildly as it bent its nethereal strength to countering the physical power of the blow. The man pivoted to his right, meaning to turn the glaive into a lever to unbalance Blays or even toss him from his feet. Rather than resisting, Blays let his sword fall downward. He ducked under the whooshing polearm and spun inside the giant's range.

  He struck at the man's extended left arm. The blade stalled in the man's snapping arm raps, yet fought through to cut into his forearm. Fluid spattered from the wound, a ghostly blue that shimmered despite the lack of sunlight. Blays swung his right-hand sword in a backhand aimed at the giant's ribs.

  The man tucked back his hips and swung the glaive across his body. The angle was awkward and one-handed, yet his sheer strength propelled the weapon's shaft into Blays with enough force to send Blays tumbling to the earth.

  Volo let loose an arrow. It struck the man dead center in the chest. He pulled it free and flung it aside. Dante and Naran pincered him, drawing his attention away from Blays, who was still pulling himself to his feet. The pale man jabbed at Dante with the glaive's blade. As Dante intercepted its tip with his sword, the man rammed it backwards, thrusting the butt at Naran's head. Naran gave way, cutting at the end of the haft. The nethereal swords had shown the ability to slice through just about anything short of a block of solid rock, but it hit the haft with a hard click and bounced away.

  The giant jerked his wrists, whipping the glaive's butt back at Naran's head. Naran just had time to raise his shoulder and tuck his chin to his chest. The impact sent him skidding over the rock. As soon as he was down, the man bullrushed Dante.

  Another arrow hit the man in the thigh. He brushed it away. The wounds to his left arm and chest were shining with white light, sealing up before Dante's eyes. Seeing the ether at work, Dante pulled at the nether. It was still no use.

  Narrowing his eyes, he focused on the ether spilling from the giant's body, purging his mind of all thoughts. Nothing came.

  The glaive's bone point was thrusting for his throat. He swung at it in a broad arc, scuttling to the side. When his blade hit the enemy's, his arm jarred so hard he nearly dropped his sword.

  "He's like an Andrac," Dante yelled, backpedaling from another attack. "Healing himself. But I can't pull the ether from him!"

  Blays rushed the man from behind. As the man spun about, Blays trapped his glaive with one sword and hurled himself inside the man's guard, poised to strike at his head or chest. Instead, the giant snap-kicked Blays in the gut, sending him flying.

  Blays landed and didn't get up. Volo fired another arrow, but it flew past the man's head. Dante tried to rush him, but the man was already spinning about. Dante ducked. The glaive's shaft whooshed over his head. Dante popped to his feet and ran back five full steps.

  Blays was still down. Volo's quiver was down to its last two or three arrows. Naran wasn't hurt too badly yet, but he was no better a swordsman than Dante.

  Far worse than that, the first of the water-people would be on them in less than a minute. As soon as they arrived to harry Dante from all sides, he and the others would have the choice of being torn apart by the furious minions, or impaled by the impassive giant.

  His heart felt like it was being squeezed through a straw. He didn't even know who the giant was. Couldn't even talk to him. He had no desire to fight the man—had, in fact, been trying to avoid that—but whatever Gladdic had released from the hexagon, it seemed bent
on destroying everything in sight. Worse, it seemed capable of doing so. It had slaughtered the Odo Sein, killed an Andrac, sent the others scurrying away. Without the nether, what hope did he and Naran have?

  There was only one way out. They had to kill the giant with a single stroke. Before he could heal. He was too strong and too fast for Dante or Naran to pull that off—even Blays hadn't been able to do more than scratch him—but Volo's bow didn't have to worry about the man's reach nor the strength of his arms. Dante suspected the enemy's skull was thick enough to protect him from most shots, but he also suspected an arrow in his eye or mouth would do the trick.

  Dante turned to yell an order at Volo. As he watched, she nocked and loosed her last arrow. It hit the giant in the shoulder. He pulled it loose, snapped it into fragments, and cast it aside.

  Dante bit his teeth together. The water-people were closing in. The giant was undaunted. Dante lifted his sword, reminded himself not to get stuck in the Pastlands, and prepared to die.

  ~

  He stumbled and slid up the white grimrock, his legs aching, tears flowing down his face to be drowned in the rain. His right arm was numb. It felt twice the size it should. Ironic, considering it was now smaller than it had ever been. He was afraid he might bleed to death—he'd had to apply a tourniquet torn from his robes on the run, and it wasn't a good one—but maybe that would be a blessing.

  As Gladdic neared the ridge, he didn't bother to glance back at the fight near the ruins of the Riya Lase. He hadn't had nearly enough time to forge a force capable of destroying the White Lich. The entire attempt had been yet another failure. Yet again, that failure had been precipitated by the nethermancer from the north. He could only pray that by his unleashing of the Eiden Rane unexpectedly early, Galand would finally be destroyed.

  The ground leveled beneath his battered feet. He hobbled along, surveying the hellscape ahead for the Drakebane. Blighted loped uphill to make for the Riya Lase, pathetically eager to serve the one who had reduced them to their graceless state, but Gladdic saw no hint of the emperor nor of his retinue.